“It’s wonderful,” Beatrix answered, her thoughts already racing back to the chapter that she’d dogeared in her memory. “I feel just like I’m slipping into a warm summer day whenever I read it.”
“Well, I can’t wait until it’s my turn,” Jennings said. “Then we can talk about it together.”
The word “together” made the skin above Beatrix’s collarbones tingle in the most pleasant way, just as it did whenever she stepped out the front door after hearing rain pattering against the window all day and realized that the sun was finally shining.
“Though I’ll be sure not to bother you until you’re ready,” Jennings added, seeming to mistake Beatrix’s silence for hesitation. “I know you’re busy with the next book at the moment. But once you’ve gotten through the first draft, perhaps we could find a spare afternoon to discuss the story.”
The weight that Beatrix thought had been left out in the cold returned then, so sharp that she had to keep herself from gasping. But just when she felt the tension start to sink into her shoulders, the scent of bergamot grew stronger, pulling herattention back to the shop and far enough away from her worries that she was able to speak.
“Of course,” Beatrix managed to say as she hastily scribbled her name on the page.
Jennings appeared to sense the change in her spirits, his eyes flicking to her face in concern as he packed the papers back in the satchel and pulled his scarf a bit tighter around his neck.
“I’d better be off, then,” he said, his lips stretching into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Or Mr. Stuart won’t be pleased.”
“I’d offer you some tea before you leave, but I’m afraid I only have one cup,” Beatrix said, worried that Jennings had misread her reaction and that she’d managed to leave him with yet another poor impression.
“I would have enjoyed that,” Jennings replied with a nod. “But perhaps it’s for the best, what with Mr. Stuart waiting for me back at the office.”
“Yes,” Beatrix murmured as she followed him to the door. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Just let me know if you need anything,” Jennings said as he opened the door and began to walk into the alleyway, lingering long enough in the threshold to make Beatrix wonder if he intended to say something more. “And enjoy the rest of the book.”
As he turned and walked into the snow, Beatrix found herself wanting to call out and ask him to stay. But instead, she shut the door with deliberate slowness and followed the scent of bergamot and citrus back inside, needing to taste the rich, familiar flavor more than ever.
But as she stepped into the office and turned toward the stove, something stopped Beatrix in her tracks.
It was the sight of two matching teacups resting beside one another next to the kettle.
CHAPTER 26
A Tree
Represents family.
Hours later, when the gas lamps along the sidewalks were just beginning to flicker to life, Violet felt her thoughts begin to slow for the first time all day. Their customers had flocked to the Crescent Moon, gathering outside and tapping on the windows before she had a chance to turn the open sign to face the street. When Violet had finally managed to unlock the door, they’d spilled into the entryway in a river of silk brocade and velvet, rushing as quickly as their snowclad boots would let them toward the tables closest to the hearth. And once they bit into the brandy snaps that had only just cooled, the rich flavor of brown sugar and secrets had unfurled on their tongues, so strong they couldn’t keep from leaning across the table and sharing a bit of news that sparked an eruption of conversation.
Though Anne tried to step in to lend a hand, Violet had pushed her back again and told the house to keep her away from the shop so that she could rest before her meeting with Vincent later that evening. Though Anne seemed to believe thatshe could pull from her magic like a bottomless well, Violet understood that she’d need to muster all she could for the task ahead.
But that left her to tend to the waves of ladies who swooped into the shop, and by the time shadows began to creep across the glass panes of the windows, she was growing weary of the ache in her feet and the frustration that had started to return the more she let her mind drift back to questions that remained unanswered.
She wasn’t like Anne, whose inner clarity grew stronger as she went through the motions of moving about the shop. No, Violet needed a different kind of rhythm, one led by whims that whipped her in surprising directions.
If she paused long enough while shifting between tables, Violet could hear it: the same tempo that had led her to the circus over a year ago beating ever so gently beneath her skin. But instead of leaning into the sensation, she had done her best to push it further away from her awareness. The music reminded her of mistakes now instead of possibilities waiting to be grasped.
Glancing around the room for hope of a distraction, Violet spotted a familiar figure standing in the entryway, draped in layers of woolen twill.
“Celeste,” Violet said as she stepped across the parlor to greet their unexpected guest. “You’ve come again on your own?”
“I’m afraid so,” Celeste replied with a shrug as she freed herself from the heavy weight of her cloak. “Katherine has been called away for the afternoon, but I still need a cup of tea. It’s been so cold out there, and I can’t seem to chase away the chill.”
“I think that you’ll find we’ve got just the remedy for that,” Violet said with a grin as she led her toward the table nearest the front window. “Anne couldn’t keep herself from brewing a special blend this morning.”
“Oh?” Celeste asked, raising one brow as she settled into her seat and began to tug off her gloves. The wind had been so sharp that the tips of her fingers were bright red from the cold, though they’d been covered by a fine layer of leather. “And what does it do?”
“I’m not exactly sure,” Violet replied as she sank into her own chair and leaned back, stretching out the soreness in her calves. “I haven’t had a chance to sit for a single moment since we opened the shop.”
But she’d seen the faces of the customers who ordered the blend and knew that Anne had worked her magic yet again. The creases in their foreheads had instantly relaxed when they’d taken their first taste, and their eyes glimmered with a faraway look that told Violet each sip carried them further away from the shop and toward something worth remembering.
